


Toy Doll

by stardropdream



Category: Tsubasa: Reservoir Chronicle
Genre: CLAMPkink, Crossdressing, Dubious Consent, Incest, M/M, Sexual Content, Underage Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-23
Updated: 2013-02-23
Packaged: 2017-12-03 09:28:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,919
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/696797
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stardropdream/pseuds/stardropdream
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Seishirou decides to play dress-up with his brother.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Toy Doll

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted to the CLAMP kink meme and then reposted to LJ September 15, 2010. 
> 
> The prompt was for kid Sei/Fuuma with Fuuma dressing up in their mother's kimono. Alternately, this fic could be entitled: "Seishirou is STILL the World's Worst Brother."

“Just like that,” Seishirou breathes as he secures the sash around Fuuma’s small waist.   
  
Fuuma says nothing, though he does blush and look down, small hands fisting in the layers of fabric. Seishirou admires his brother, demure, looking down, dressed in their mother’s kimono. The blue fabric with the red blossoms doesn’t come close to fitting the young boy, billowing on the floor and pooling off his slim, pale shoulder. But the image is still suitable. Fuuma looks up at his brother as Seishirou brushes the hair from his little brother’s face, smoothing it away.   
  
“Brother?” Fuuma asks, blinking up at him as his brother smiles down at him over the edge of his glasses.   
  
“Shush,” Seishirou instructs as his hands smooth away from Fuuma’s hair and slides down his neck. He shifts, pillowing his thumb over Fuuma’s bottom lip. His brother does not respond but his lips part, the pad of his thumb curling over the soft flesh and the line of his white teeth. Fuuma’s eyes lid as he stares at his brother, letting Seishirou touch him, his fingers brushing over the line of his jaw as his thumb presses against his lips. Fuuma stifles a little cry as his brother pulls away. Fuuma licks his lips, his face slightly flush as Seishirou picks the hair ornament off the table and brushes it into Fuuma’s hair, pushing it back and pinning it to the side of his head, in his hair.   
  
The boy in the kimono and red flower hair piece is still very much a boy, round-faced and flushed, but he looks very much the part as his brother adjusts he kimono on his little’s brother frail, undeveloped body.   
  
“Mother really won’t be angry?” Fuuma asks in a quiet voice, blinking up at his brother.  
  
“I’ll explain to her,” Seishirou says. Fuuma nods as the back of Seishirou’s fingers stroke Fuuma’s cheeks, tracing the rounded lines of his face. A thumb strokes his parted mouth, the curve of his nose, the arch of his eyebrows. “Won’t you thank me?”  
  
“Thank you,” Fuuma says at once, quietly, tilting his head back as his brother’s thumb pulses down his neck.   
  
But Seishirou presses his thumb harshly, suddenly, against Fuuma’s windpipe, and the little boy chokes.   
  
“That isn’t how I meant, little brother,” Seishirou murmurs, “and you know this.” Fuuma’s eyes flutter shut as he tries to breathe. Seishirou pushes against Fuuma’s throat, watching the boy’s with a sharp smile. His smile only widens as he watches his brother buckle and fold, relent to his brother’s unforgiving touch. “Hm?”  
  
“I’m sorry,” Fuuma manages to choke out. “I—I’m sorry.”  
  
“It’s alright, you don’t have to be scared,” Seishirou says gently and loosens his hold on his brother’s throat. He strokes the red marks his fingers leave on his brother’s pale skin, pressing against them to ensure they’ll bruise. “My pretty little thing.”   
  
“Brother,” Fuuma whispers and then, to thank him properly as he wants, leans up to kiss him.  
  
Seishirou smiles against the slant of Fuuma’s mouth and bites down sharply on Fuuma’s bottom lip, and drawing blood. Fuuma gasps in pain, tears welling up in his eyes as Seishirou licks up the blood, smearing it across Fuuma’s lips. Fuuma goes limp as Seishirou holds him, opening his mouth to his brother’s tongue as it sweeps over the taste of his blood.  
  
“Don’t get blood on mother’s kimono,” Seishirou warns as he pulls away, carding his fingers through his brother’s hair and adjusting the hair ornament. “Otherwise she’ll be very unhappy.”  
  
Fuuma shivers as his brother runs his hands down his front, smoothing out the fabric of his mother’s kimono. Fuuma’s eyes close. Seishirou leans in, biting his brother’s mouth as he picks the boy up effortlessly. Obediently, Fuuma’s bare legs shift out from the opening of the fabric and wraps them around his brother’s waist. His arms curl around his brother’s neck, holding himself up against the elder of the two brothers.   
  
“You’re flushed, Fuuma,” Seishirou says good-naturedly as he uses one hand to balance against Fuuma’s backside, holding the boy up. His other hands lips into his pocket to pull out the oil he’ll use to prepare and penetrate his little brother.   
  
The hand on Fuuma shifts under the fabric of Setsuka’s kimono, the fabric pooling on the floor, slipping off one of Fuuma’s tiny shoulders. His fingers splay over the warm skin of Fuuma’s backside, sliding into the cleft before palming a cheek and squeezing.   
  
Fuuma gasps quietly and takes the bottle of oil Seishirou holds out for him, tipping a liberal amount into Seishirou’s waiting, cupped hand. Seishirou puts the other hand down to meet the other, cradling Fuuma while spreading his backside. The oiled hand slips into the cleft and Fuuma’s mouth goes lax. Seishirou takes the bottle from Fuuma’s trembling hand and places it down. Fuuma’s legs tighten around him and hands clench at the back of Seishirou’s neck.   
  
“Pretty,” Seishirou says absently as Fuuma writhes against him, squirming and biting his lip as Seishirou slips a finger inside him. He bucks, just slightly, and Seishirou chuckles. Fuuma’s body is tight but Seishirou is not patient as he pushes in a second and third finger, spreading his brother. Still Fuuma clings to him.   
  
The sash of Fuuma’s new outfit is slipping, exposing his panting chest and his small shoulders, but still the kimono stays on, covering his back and part of his waist at this point only. Fuuma’s bare legs shudder and quiver as Seishirou prepares him, and his hold on his older brother tightens—it always hurts a little, when his brother does this to him, pushes inside him.  
  
He flinches as Seishirou’s oiled fingers move inside him, his free hand kneading and spreading his backside. He squeezes and spreads a cheek before moving on to the next one, alternating between the two. Fuuma is soft and malleable, and with each minute movement his brother flinches or moans. His little head tips back, or to the side, or forward to rest against his brother’s shoulder.   
  
Seishirou smiles, and kisses Fuuma’s ear. Then, as he bites down on the lobe, he removes his fingers and shoves in his cock, pushing in and up to the hilt without pause. Fuuma’s head whips back with such force that it hits the wall, and he gasps. Tears spill down Fuuma’s cheeks, pained and unadjusted to his brother’s girth, filling Fuuma’s small body so completely. Seishirou continues to smile, uncaring.   
  
“Fix your kimono, Fuuma,” Seishirou reminds.  
  
Fuuma shudders as his brother thrusts up harshly into him just as he’s going to speak:  
  
“Ye—ah…! Y-yes… brother…”  
  
Trembling fingers untangle from the fabric of Seishirou’s clothes and move to Fuuma’s own. The kimono has completely fallen from Fuuma’s shoulders now. He collects the fabric from the crook of his elbows, draping the blue fabric over his shoulders and pulling it tight across his chest. He looks up at his brother expectantly.   
  
Seishirou continues to smile, and gives each of Fuuma’s cheeks an encouraging squeeze, before spreading and thrusting. Fuuma’s cries are taut and hitched.   
  
“My pretty little brother,” Seishirou says, admiring the pliant creature in his hands, tight and warm and making such interesting noises. “You can only let this happen with mother or with me.”  
  
“Yes,” Fuuma gasps and writhes as Seishirou pushes the cock in and out.   
  
“Because you belong to us.”  
  
“Yes,” Fuuma says again, a tiny cry.   
  
“Our little toy,” Seishirou whispers. Fuuma shivers and nods. Seishirou smiles and leans in biting at Fuuma’s throat before rolling up to lick at the clotted blood staining Fuuma’s lips red.   
  
“I only want you,” Fuuma says, quietly, staring up at his brother, “t-to play with me.”  
  
“You won’t let anyone else touch you like this.”  
  
“Never, brother.”  
  
“Good little boy,” Seishirou says. “So loyal.”  
  
Fuuma nods, and in a demonstration of how Fuuma can keep his brother’s attention for so long, Fuuma clenches his body tight and rolls his hips in a way he knows that Seishirou likes from the past experiences of his brother fucking him mercilessly. Seishirou watches the rare moment of boldness as his brother continues to writhe against him, still too young to fully understand and appreciate the waves of pleasure pulsing through him.   
  
Eyes twinkling in victory, Seishirou grabs Fuuma’s hips and says, “I should reward your loyalty shouldn’t I?”  
  
Fuuma has no time to respond other than the beginnings of a nod because his brother is thrusting into him, as hard as he can and all Fuuma can manage is an incoherent gurgling sound to punctuate each thrust. Seishirou continues, ignoring, or perhaps aiming for, his brother’s cries of pain as each thrust shatters through Fuuma’s body. But Fuuma strives for it, strives for the touch and attention, whimpers when there is a small cadence in the beat and cries loudly when the pace resumes. The little boy goes limp as Seishirou’s thrusts continue, his mouth finally going lax not in pain but in pleasure from the pain.   
  
With one last thrust, Seishirou’s hold on Fuuma tightens and he buries his cock up to the hilt inside Fuuma, filling his little brother with his seed. Fuuma squirms and gasps, but he doesn’t pull away, only twists on his brother’s cock, gurgling in the pleasure, aching for more, his young body ablaze with the pleasure he can only get from the pain his brother gives him.   
  
As Seishirou finally pulls out his softening cock and tucks it back into his clothes again, some of the cum drips from his brother and onto his hand. He lifts his fingers to Fuuma’s blood-stained mouth and pushes one inside. Fuuma’s eyelids flutter as he sucks on the digit. The other fingers brush idly over Fuuma’s face, leaving trails of white behind. He paints his brother’s face with the chord of cum, even smearing his hand over Fuuma’s backside again to collect more to complete his canvas.   
  
“So cute,” Seishirou decides, still smearing his cum across Fuuma’s pliant, open face. Fuuma’s mouth touches into a smile, and he gurgles happily to his brother. “And all mine.”  
  
“Yes, brother,” Fuuma whispers, panting as the cum presses over his face. “Yours. Always.”   
  
Seishirou smiles in victory as Fuuma’s eyes continue to flutter, his mouth parted as he pants, gazing up at his brother. Once done smearing the cum over his little brother’s face, he sticks his fingers into Fuuma’s little mouth again and watches him suck. Fuuma does it with gusto, wanting to please his brother with his enthusiasm and willingness to please only his brother, always his brother, forever his brother. Seishirou thrives on watching his toy behave as he’s supposed to.   
  
His brother was too tired to stand, so once Seishirou was done, he lays his brother down on their mother’s bed, on his stomach so his cum wouldn’t drip out of the boy’s body.   
  
“But it seems,” Seishirou says, as he strokes his brother’s backside idly, “You’ve gone and made a mess of Mother’s kimono, Fuuma. Look at all this oil and cum. Weren’t you the messy boy.”  
  
“I was messy,” Fuuma mutters. “I’m sorry.”  
  
“Mother will punish you now, I’m sure.”  
  
He watches his brother squirm, from the expectation of pleasure, of pain. “Yes…”  
  
“I’ll make sure she isn’t too hard on you.”  
  
“Thank you, Brother.”  
  
“You’ll thank me later,” Seishirou says, then fists his hand in Fuuma’s hair to jerk his face up to lick the drying cum from his toy’s face.


End file.
